Two Rings
by The Atomic Cafe
Summary: Mac explains his feelings on Claire, death, and his new wife.


**Two Rings**

**By Dimgwrthien**

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to CSI:NY or affiliates._

Mac kissed his wife gently on the forehead, glancing at her. She lie there before him, still dressed, but eyes closed. She hadn't even taken off the light amount of makeup that she had applied earlier in the morning.

She looked older, of course. Things had changed for the worst. Their wedding provided a sort of joy immeasurable by any sort of means, easing the two of them into a comfortable pattern.

_"Coffee?" Stella asked, sitting next to Mac at the table. She put the mug in front of him even before he answered._

_"Thanks," Mac answered, though he was surprised that the coffee wasn't having any sort of effect on him. He had grown used to using coffee to have the energy to get out of the bed he and Claire had shared and to work until he could feel nothing, but he felt well-rested enough._

_"I need to head by the office for a few minutes." Stella took a sip of her own coffee. "I'll be back within an hour. Need me to grab anything for you?"_

_"I brought my files home," Mac joked, smiling at her. Stella ginned back. "No thanks. I have something to do, too, if you don't mind. Shouldn't take me any longer than you."_

_Mac put on a dress shirt and slacks, even though he knew that he wouldn't be seeing anyone. However, it felt right, something in his old order before Stella came along. He enjoyed his new life with her, but he wanted to keep something of himself._

_Stella kissed him on the cheek and left. Mac followed soon after, walking along the crowded streets. It wasn't too far away, and he amused himself during the walk by thinking out his words._

_The church loomed into view too soon._

_Pulling at the large arches of doors, Mac entered, looking upon the rows of empty pews. He dipped his finger in the holy water, making a cross on his forehead, then took a seat about two or three rows back, glancing up at the image of the Virgin Mary. She looked so peaceful there that Mac had to admire the image before he bowed down his head._

_Whispering a small prayer, one that he had memorized long ago as a child, he stood up and crossed to the door to the left of the Virgin's image. Outside was a graveyard with several small trees and dozens of tombstones._

_Mac walked along the isles, careful of where he stepped, reading some of the names as he went. All of them had died too young - how could a person ever live a long enough life when there was so much to do?_

_Instead of pondering this, Mac kneeled beside one of the graves. He knew it well already, seeing Claire's name on there. Claire Dawn Lewis-Taylor. 1956-2001. Too young, younger than the rest._

_He adjusted the flowers that he had put there the day before as Stella looked on, head bowed. They were still alive, roses of pinks and reds and whites._

_"Hey, Claire," he started, staring at the ground where her coffin lie. He tried to imagine her in the coffin, just as beautiful as the last time he had seen her, but his mind seemed to shake if he tried to. "Hey, honey."_

_There were no words to say, so Mac forced out anything he could._

_"It's the tenth. Of September, as you can tell. It's cold out. There's that beautiful tree above your - your grave." Mac cleared his throat. No amount of time made talking any easier. Though, he thought back to the days when he couldn't even say a single word, and just left roses and wet tears. "It hasn't gone down yet. Just a few leaves, but it's still beautiful. How can anything not be beautiful when it has you?_

_"As you know, Stella and I had gotten married a while back. Two months ago, actually. I told you about that. You had said to move on if anything ever happened to you, and I couldn't. I really couldn't for a long time, Claire." He pressed his lips together and felt the hard lump in his throat start to burn. He took several breaths, but they didn't help. "I saw you in everything, including everyone's face. I saw a woman and thought that she had your eyes or your cheeks or something, and I couldn't stand being around them any more. It wasn't that they looked like you and it reminded me of you, but I wanted everything about you to stay with just you. To have my own darling Claire, different from the rest of them._

_"I guess I failed at that," Mac laughed. The laugh became silent too quickly. "I gave Stella something that none of those women had. Only you. I married her. You told me to move on and I did and I don't know what to think about it. I think she's amazing, but I didn't want to give you up._

_"I wore your wedding ring for years. I wore it every day that we were married and you were - were alive. I was so proud of it because it meant that I had won at getting my Claire. It meant that I had beaten out men who had deserved you so much more and you deserved more. _

_"But there isn't room for two rings on a finger, is there?" Mac looked at his hand, which was devoid of anything. He fought for words to explain things to the grave. "You came first, and Stella's here. I love both of you to the point where I can't even describe it. And I know that you liked Stella. You had even talked about me going to her if anything ever happened to you."_

_Mac pulled at a chain in his pocket with two gold rings on it. "I'm not good with choices like these. But, Claire, I came here to say hello to you. I didn't mean to explain all of this, but it's been five years, and I need to tell you that I still love you."_

_He didn't say another word, but got up, tucking the chain back in his pocket, walking back through the church where he couldn't bring himself to look at the Virgin._

_The next day, on the eleventh of September, a day that Mac already hated, Stella was shot._

_The lights of the police sirens did nothing to calm Mac. He held Stella in his steadily reddening hands, looking at the man who had been handcuffed. The gun lay on the floor, empty. Stella coughed up a bit of blood on Mac, looking at her chest. Mac held a hand over the wound, feeling the warmth of her life dripping away._

_Stella smiled up at him, a bit of blood still going down her chin. "I got him," she whispered, then coughed more._

_Mac brought her tight to him, hugging her shoulders, touching her hair. The blood could be washed off later, he thought, feeling the curls and her skin. He hugged tightly and was relieved when Stella's hands moved a bit to grab him back._

_"You got him," he whispered. "Damn it, Stella."_

_"I'm into my job too much to die," she told him. Mac smiled slightly, then felt the pull of the paramedic's hands as they took Stella away. She was put on a stretcher and into the ambulance, which shrieked the way a banshee does, warning of death and loss and despair._

_Mac climbed in after her, moving to her side, grabbing her hand. It was the only thing he could think of._

_"I'm not going anywhere," she told him, and Mac loosened his grip a little, but did not let go._

_"I know," he whispered. "I know. Just stay with me, Stella. We're going to get it fixed, and we're going to go home and watch that movie you rented and I'll cook."_

_"Finally," she whispered back, smiling through her reddened teeth. "I was getting sick of takeout."_

_Mac smiled a little, but his eyes wandered back to the wound that the paramedics were investigating, trying to solve. The hole was larger than he thought, and there was twice as much blood as he remembered._

_"Jesus, Stella," Mac whispered, and closed his eyes. His head hurt too much, and there was too much to comprehend._

_"Mac, this may be the dirtiest part of New York, the slums of the city where I just chased down a murderer, but I still love this place too much to leave you."_

_Mac kissed Stella's forehead, and she tried to kiss his cheek. It felt odd, Mac noticed, to have a bloody kiss on his cheek. Lipstick, he tried to think of it as. Lipstick, like the number of times his mother and Claire and Stella had all left their lips on him, done in red or pink or brown or purple._

Mac touched Stella's cheek, which felt unnaturally cold. She didn't look tired from the 'journey' back to te hospital, at least, and her wound had been covered nicely. Mac could pretend, if only for a minute, that things were perfect again.

He took his seat as the priest started talking.


End file.
